In Need of a Fix?
by gnbrules
Summary: A collection of pure crack oneshots. Anything goes. Humor galore, but we are throwing away reality in this one, so proceed with caution.
1. Shawn Crosses The Line

**In Need of a Fix?**

**Summary: A collection of pure crack oneshots. Anything goes. Humor galore, but we are throwing away reality in this one, so proceed with caution.  
**

**A/N: As I've already mentioned, this fic will be nothing but pure crack oneshots. Anything goes. Any pairings may pop up. There will most likely be impossibilities, inconsistencies, dream-like situations, f****encing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles...and yes I'm quoting The Princess Bride now. But seriously, anything goes. I can't promise to update this one often, because I am not often inspired to write crack. But the occasional updates will be here for those in need of a quick fix of insanity. **

**Chapter One: Shawn Crosses The Line**

**Summary: ****Lassiter's had enough. He's pressing charges against Shawn. Will Juliet and the Chief intervene on Shawn's behalf? And why is Gus taking Lassiter's side?**

One minute, the world is in complete status quo. The Chief is in her office, looking over case reports. Juliet is at her desk, filling out paperwork. And Shawn is teasing Lassiter, as Gus makes additional quips by his side.

Lassiter scratches in some names on his own paperwork and absentmindedly grabs a chip from the personal-sized bag on his desk.

Shawn grabs the bag casually, reaches inside, and pops a handful of chips into his mouth.

And then the world is spun into chaos, because Carlton Lassiter has had enough. He stands angrily, whips out a pair of handcuffs. He grabs Shawn's arms and pulls them roughly behind his back.

The handcuffs click into place.

"Lassie, what the hell?" Shawn demands, and every eye snaps to the scene.

"Shawn Spencer, you have the right to remain silent..."

"You're arresting me? On what charges?"

"Petty theft! You stole my chips! And you're always stealing my things!"

Juliet scowls from her place at her desk. "Carlton, you can't be serious."

"I don't know, Juliet. He has a point." says Gus.

Shawn turns to him angrily. "Gus, dude, you're supposed to be on my side!" he accuses, sounding betrayed.

Gus crosses his arms in defiance. "You're always stealing my stuff, too. Maybe it's about time you've been arrested for it. How else will you learn?"

Juliet interjects. "You're arresting him for stealing a handful of chips. Does that even qualify as a _misdemeanor?_"

Lassiter pouts, and he suddenly looks like a little kid. "They were my chips...I'm perfectly in the right to have him charged..."

"Sorry, Partner. I'm pretty sure you've lost your mind."

The Chief appears from her office, taking in the sight of her Head Detective arresting her psychic with surprising calm. "Detective, what's going on here?"

"Spencer stole my personal property, and I'm sick of it. I'm arresting him for it."

"Detective, I can't let you do this. This department needs him, and I can't let you arrest him for stealing from you...what was it this time, anyway? A pen?"

"My Sun Chips."

"It was just a few!" scowls Shawn.

"Ah, I see." Chief Vick ponders it for a moment, then comes up with a solution. "How about you un-handcuff him, take him away from department property, and punch him in the face."

"Yeah! Wait, what?" asks Shawn, horrified.

"And then maybe," the Chief continues, "he'll punch you back, and you can press charges for assault. I'm not letting you arrest him for anything less than assault."

"Chief, that's ridiculous." argues Lassiter. "If I punched him in the face, I can assure you, he wouldn't get back up."

"Would so!" snaps Shawn. "I could totally take you, Lassie-face!"

"I don't care what the two of you do after this. Just release him, okay?"

"Yes, Chief..." says Lassiter sadly, and he un-cuffs Shawn grudgingly.

Shawn rubs his wrists and growls insults at Lassiter, who rolls his eyes.

When the Chief went back to her office, they were still arguing about who would win in a boxing match, with Gus and Detective O'Hara taking bets around the department.

Back in her office, Chief Karen Vick sighs to herself. It was just another one of the more bizarre days around the Santa Barbara Police Department...

**A/N: I warned you, and this is only the beginning. **


	2. Cheater

**Chapter Two: Cheater **

**Summary: ****The signs are subtle at first. He stays a little later at the Psych office. He stops kissing her goodnight. At first, she chalks it up to stress, but then he comes home smelling like **_**her **_**and she knows exactly where he's been and what he's been doing. **

**A/N: I wasn't kidding when I said anything goes. This is crack in the extreme; there may be out of character-ness and impossibilities. This is my last warning to y'all, so don't try to stone me for what I'm about to do. :P  
**

The signs are subtle at first. He stays a little later at the Psych office, always with some elaborate excuse. He stops kissing her goodnight. He is uncomfortable, awkward, different around her.

At first, she blames it on the stress she knows he's under. It still hurts, but she can deal with, because it's _Shawn. _She loves Shawn. And Shawn loves her. He would never...

But then he starts coming home, smelling like her, and her heart breaks. She knows exactly where he's been and what he's been doing, and she can deny it no longer.

She waits two weeks; it's just the amount of time she needs to muster up her courage. So, when he comes home late again, she confronts him. She takes his hands and there is red under his fingernails, and _her _on his breath, and she turns away and cries.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again." he says, and he sounds so incredibly guilty, and she wants to be so angry with him, but she can't stand it. "You know how I feel about you. But Gus introduced me to her and I just wanted something different. But I love you. I love you. You know I do."

Is it so horrible that she believes him?

"It won't happen again. She's nothing compared to you. You...are everything, okay? Never again."

She believes him. Because she knows, deep down, that he loves her.

She's hurt and sad and he comes closer, draws her to him. She lets him. "You've really gotten this out of your system?" she asks with quiet desperation.

He puts his arms around her and rests his head against her.

"I am so over Raspberry. You have no idea how much I love you. You're my forever fruit, you know that?"

Mrs. Pineapple-Spencer leans into him. "I know."

**A/N: Yeah...so I'm imagining a giant talking pineapple as Shawn's wife...I warned you about the crack. Let that be a lesson to all of you...just say NO. **


	3. So It Must Be True

**A/N: Yin 3 in 2D spoilers. **

**So It Must Be True**

Some people might have called it a long day, but Carlton Lassiter knew better. Lassiter knew there were always 24 hours in a day, 60 minutes in an hour, and 60 seconds in a minute. Still, it seemed that a lot had happened in such a short span of time – more than usual, in fact. The police department had finally closed the Yin/Yang case. There had been surprises, horrors, and death.

This information and these experiences were something that Lassiter took in and processed, analyzed, stored.

In addition to this, Lassiter had witnessed his partner kissing the psychic.

This was _also _something that Lassiter took in and processed, analyzed, and stored.

Perhaps he should have recognized the signs before this, cataloged clues, but no matter.

What was done was done, and he was emotionless about all of it.

Now it was time to return to his crisp, clean apartment and wind down.

When he arrived at his place, he put his keys squarely on the hook. Took off his coat. Went to the kitchen.

If someone were around to watch, he might have taken out a beer from the fridge to "relax." He might have done a lot of things that they would find natural, normal, human. Like blinking. But there was no one and it was unnecessary. So instead he reached into the cabinet below the kitchen sink and took out a small can.

He drank from the nozzle, letting the liquid go through him, but he did not taste it. It was pure energy, needed for continued activity. His internal system would be sustained.

After this, Carlton Lassiter went into his bedroom.

He didn't need a bed, but it was good to keep up appearances. He would lie there in the night, just in case something happened – if someone broke in, came for an unexpected visit – it had to look like he had slept.

No one else knew and it was best not to let them know. They might find the truth disconcerting, hard to adjust to, even sinister (although he was only meant for good, his creator had made sure of it).

In his room, Carlton took off his tie, shirt, and pants.

He moved as if to scratch his back, but instead found a small mole-like anomaly just below his shoulder blade. Underneath this facade of fake skin, Lassiter found the dial.

It was metal, connected to wires.

No blood or sinew could be found here, on this body. Only simulations of such things. And that was only if you could call it a "body."

Lassiter turned the dial to the label which read in print to tiny for human eyes, "hibernation mode."

His system immediately began to shut down; it went into the mode which most resembled human sleep.

He got into bed and laid there, waiting for the mode to set in completely.

If there were noises or motion around him later, his sensors would react appropriately. But otherwise, he would be in this mode til morning when his internal alarm would begin a chain reaction, renewing him for a new day.

If Carlton Lassiter, aka DP Model 215, had the capacity to consider something nice, he might say that it was nice not to have to think, feel, or toss and turn over the days events.

But qualifying something as _nice _wasn't in his programming.

DP Model 215 dealt with facts, processing, analyzing, and storing. Nothing more or less.

All in all, it was never very hard to be a robot.

**A/N: Not really as funny as the others...in fact, I think I just disturbed myself a little bit. But it's a legitimately inspired Crack!fic. **


	4. With Age

**A/N: I really should work on something other than a crack-fic since it's been so long since I've written anything substantial for Psych. Eh, maybe I'll throw Henry some love in a bit, all things considered. But for now, another chapter from my twisted mind. **

**Summary: People change with age, and not everyone is happy about it. **

_The two boys sat in Henry Spencer's living room, staring at each other curiously. The younger of the two blinked and held an expression of confusion and mild concern, while the older of the two smiled awkwardly, almost apologetically. _

Meanwhile, at the Psych office, Shawn walked in on the one person whom he was sure he would never see again. The man in question was sitting with his feet carelessly on Shawn's desk. He had a charming smile as he tossed Shawn's old hacky-sack from one hand to the other.

"May I help you?" asked Shawn.

The man glowered slightly. "Yeah, dude, I have a bone to pick with you."

"Shoot."

The man tossed the hacky-sack at Shawn, who caught it reflexively. Then the man said, "You've really let yourself go, Shawn. I mean, you've really pudged out these past couple years. They're going to start calling you Fatty Mcfatterson soon...and I can't handle having that kind of reputation."

"I am not fat," said Shawn defensively. "I've just...filled out."

The younger man rolled his eyes, and then pulled up his shirt slightly to reveal a mostly-flat stomach. "See? Look at me and then look at you. I'm like a twig, while you're flab and blubber galore..."

35 year old Shawn looked down at his stomach, which protruded over his jeans. "Aw, man."

29 year old Shawn sighed. "Do us a favor and lay off the snack cakes, alright?" And with that, the younger, slimmer Shawn made his way out of the office, patting Shawn's round belly as one final parting gesture.

_Back at Henry's house, eight year old Shawn was still staring in shock at the lanky, freckled boy in front of him. "I can't believe you're me," he said finally. "They really weren't kidding about the awkward teenage years, were they?"_

_"Believe me, I know," said the older boy, scrunching up his freckled face unhappily._

_"It's like we're not even the same kid," remarked the eight year old, and thirteen year old Shawn just sighed and nodded his agreement. _


End file.
